Final Goodbye
by a.lakewood
Summary: A short one-shot about making sure you've got all your bases covered and saying the most difficult 'goodbye' of all.


"Well," I sighed, "I guess I'll let you go now." I held the phone pressed between my ear and my shoulder as I unraveled my finger from the telephone cord. Old habit, I suppose – winding the cord about my fingers.

"Um, okay. I'm so sorry. If there's anything I can do to help…" She trailed off. She must not know what to say – I've been getting a lot of that lately.

"I know, Paris. I'll call you."

"Yeah. You're a good person; I've always known that. You don't deserve this."

"Nobody deserves this…But I'll deal with it."

"I know. You can handle anything."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

There was a long pause. I decided to end the call – or at least attempt to again. "Okay. I'll try to keep in touch."

"Okay…Bye."

"Bye." I hung up the phone, returning it to its cradle. Taking a deep breath, I looked at my list, crossing off Paris' name and looking at the number she had given me. Only one more person to call. Someone I haven't seen since high school. I thought that with all this time, not being near her, the feelings would go away or lessen, but they haven't. As I stare at her name and number beneath where Paris' name has been crossed out, the love – infatuation, some might say – I have had for her returns. I've tried to hide it and ignore it since I left, but…I never succeed.

I pick up the phone and dial eleven digits – it's a long distance call. After five rings, her voice answers. "Hello. You've reached-"

I hung up before the message could finish playing. Okay. I can try back later. Actually, Paris said something about her going home for the summer. It's not that long of a drive from Hartford. Not even an hour. Besides, I don't know if I'll be able to work up the courage to call her again.

But I don't know if she'll want to see me or if she'll care about what I have to say. This will be the hardest on me of all of them. My parents were with me when I found out and it wasn't that hard then. But her… And face-to-face… But I don't think I can touch the phone again. Sincerity becomes distorted over the phoneline. Distorted into pity. Unintentionally. Without looking into the face of the person I'm talking to, I can't decipher emotion. So…I guess I'll make a little road trip.

As I drive through the small town, I pass the familiar dance studio and the hardware store converted into a diner. I slow down in front of the house, making sure that someone's home before parking alongside the curb. A deep breath before exiting my car. I walk the short distance to the front door and knock lightly. "I got it, Mom," she calls from the other side before the door swings open. The smile falls from her face, replaced with surprise and confusion. "What are you doing here?"

Another deep breath fills my lungs; so does the smell of coffee. "I needed to talk to you."

"After six years, what could there possibly be for us to talk about?" She raises her eyebrows as she leans against the doorjamb, waiting for an answer.

"You're the last person I need to talk to."

"Who is it, Ror?" a female voice calls from inside. "Pizza boy?"

"No, Mom. I'll be there in a second. Stop the movie," Rory replies. She hasn't changed. That's a great thing. "What did you need?" She looks at me skeptically as if I have ulterior motives for dropping by unannounced. And I suppose I do.

"I tried calling your place – Paris gave me the number – but I got the machine. I remembered that she said you may be down here," I explained.

"Oh. Why didn't you call here then?"

I don't know. Why didn't I? "I couldn't pick up the phone again."

"Okay…Anyway?"

"I just wanted to apologize."

Her eyebrows drew together. She was puzzled. "Apologize," she repeats. "For what?"

"Everything. Anything I've ever done to you. I'm sorry."

"Okay, what's going on?" She stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind her. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing…" I lied. I didn't want to – didn't mean to.

"You're lying. Please. Tell me what's really wrong. No one shows up at someone's front door after the better part of a decade for 'nothing.'"

"Okay." I pause a moment, debating the best way to say it. I decided to just be blunt. "I'm dying." Not as hard to say as I thought it would be. Of course, I can't look her in the eyes.

I can tell that she's taken aback by the words. Stunned. A shade of doubt in her eyes when I finally look in them. "What? No. You're lying again, and it's not funny." I just stared at her, not confirming her accusation as she wanted. She understood that I was telling the truth. "How?"

"It's not important."

"How long?"

"Not very…I just wanted to make sure you knew that I was sorry for how I treated you."

"I know."

"And that I really do care for you."

She nodded.

"So, you accept my apology?"

"Apology accepted," she whispers.

"Okay, then." I started to head off the porch. "It was nice seeing you again, Rory."

"I…If there's anything-"

I tuned her out as I walked across the lawn. Yeah. I know. If there's anything, I'll call you. I know.

She called out my name. "Tristan!"

I turned slowly. "Yeah?"

She came over to me. "Do you want to stay for a while?" Always trying to do the right thing – or, at least, what would make her feel less guilty.

"Um, no. I don't think so. I don't want to intrude."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Anyway, I have a few more arrangements to make."

"Okay." When she hugged me it was a complete shock. "Don't hesitate to call me. Anytime. For anything."

"I won't." Her change in attitude towards me was more surprising than it should've been. So much forgotten with two words – I'm dying. As I look at her, I think she knows that I won't call. I think she understands that this is goodbye; the last time she'll see me. Ever. She hugs me again – slightly desperate and clinging. I gently push her away knowing everything that could never be. "Goodbye, Rory." And I walked away for the last time.


End file.
